Puppeteer.

Strings dangling from Divine Obscurity,
The laughter wafts to ears so murkily.
Walls of paper made too thin.
And minds' filled with such deep sin.
Blood marks the floor beneath shoe,
Spider webs clinging to the feet too.
Pulse sounds through the unsteady air,
Basking into the Puppeteer's lair.
Thoughts swimming with wounds agape,
Barely letting notice of the chills on the nape.
Cool breezes rush through ripped curtains,
The freeze being noticed and staying for certain.
Smiles being shown with fangs out;
Wires protruding from each one's snout.
Mist and fog creep so slowly,
As shapes so mighty ooze ever lowly.
Mercy unknown as knives are raised to throats,
The scent of blood too hot in the air-taken to notes.
But ones' mind doesn't leer.
Which of us is the puppeteer?